Musings II
by Laseri
Summary: A sequel, of sorts, to Musings, filling in the rather numerous blanks. Rose's and the Doctor's thoughts, mostly on each other. Enjoy.


Well, it's finally school holidays, so I figured I'd make a start on what I have decided to call Musings II, for want of a more interesting name. Here's how it works. I'll put new chapters up as I write them, and they'll probably be in the same order they are in the show, to make things easier. I'll post them in this "story" and as I get up to the ones I've already written I'll add them into this one, and delete them from the original Musings. So if something disappears from the old one, don't panic, it's been moved to the new one. Eventually, when I've covered every single episode (and yes, that will include The Christmas Invasion and anywhere else Rose makes an appearance) the title of this will be changed to Musings, the old one will be deleted and it'll all be in here.

Right, glad we've sorted that out. Now to the interesting bit:

Introducing Musing 1.1—_Rose_, in the same vein as the _New Earth_ THE KISS™ one—a slightly AU explanation, and some dialogue thrown in just to complicate things. My take on why she really refused, that first time, and why it was only the mention of time travel that convinced her. And it does not involve Pete Tyler, who is rather like a dandelion—blond, harmless-looking, and impossible to get rid of.

And I must confess, I don't own Doctor Who, much as I would love to.

* * *

"But he has one constant companion," whispered the chubby man in his garden shed, surrounded by photos and clippings, leaning conspiratorially towards the young curious blonde.

"Who's that?" she asked, enthralled by tales of paradoxes and mysterious repeated sightings of one single man—the same man who'd blown up an entire department store, the same she'd been joking with about price wars only a few hours before.

"Death," he said solemnly.

"Right…" She began to back away, eyes darting around for some sort of escape. Her boyfriend was right, he was a _complete_ nutter, and what on earth was she doing here…

Until he smiled suddenly. "Not really death, of course, that'd be silly, wouldn't it?" He laughed at the expression on her face. "Ever been had?"

She smiled slightly, but it was a tight-lipped, concealing smile. This wasn't over. "Who is it really, then? There's got to be someone with him, sometime, otherwise you wouldn't 'a mentioned it, would you?"

"I knew I couldn't fool you for long," he said softly, serious again. "Soon as I saw you, I knew. Here." He turned to rummage through a cabinet and came up with a manila folder, full to bursting. Dumping it on the worn table between them, he flipped it open and held out the first photograph as she gasped.

It was a worn old photo of a very familiar young curious blonde in a red jacket and jeans, on the arm of an equally familiar tall man with large ears and a black leather jacket. Both were smiling happily, and appeared to be holding hands.

"But…that's _me…_"

"Look at this one," he continued. "An etching from the nineteenth century. I bought it on auction last year. And look at that inscription."

The Doctor again, with a grim expression. And in the background, the same blonde, looking slightly more glamorous in an off-the-shoulder evening dress with her hair pulled up in a curled style. The inscription at the bottom read: "_The Doctor and companion Miss R. Tyler. December 24th,_ _1869._"

"Hang on, I wasn't even born! And mum always said I don't look like anyone else in the family!" She was suspicious once more, watching his face. "Is this some sort of trick, 'cause if it is, I'm calling the police, have you got that? You could be charged as a stalker, that's just sick."

"That's not one of your ancestors, Rose Tyler. That's you. And that's him, the same Doctor you met."

"What are you on about? It's not possible; you can't go back in time..." A sudden thought struck her. "An' I don't believe in reincarnation, so don't even start."

"Rose Tyler, this is your destiny. You are the Doctor's one constant companion. No one knows why, but he's chosen you—"

She didn't wait to hear the rest. She ran.

Later, after she'd saved the world with this man who wasn't a man, she began to think that maybe there was some method in the madness. She began to believe the impossible, just for a little while. And when he asked her to go with him, to leave behind her humdrum existence and travel, really travel, she refused; the etching of the girl in the evening dress had sprung to mind. This man couldn't make her that girl; he couldn't go backwards. This didn't fit. If she went with him now, she would never be that girl, and deep down she believed, she knew she had to be. It had to fit. She was desperate now, unconsciously desperate: the pieces all fitted together, she knew they did, she knew they would, they _had _to…

But she couldn't help a tinge of regret at the loss of a castle in Spain, as she made an excuse and watched him and his smile and his wonderful blue box fade.

She couldn't help, either, a burst of joy when he returned and told her what she longed to hear, validated her fantasy, realised her dream, the answer to all the riddles and legends. Then she knew. He'd chosen her. He was her future. She would be the girl in the etching and the laughing blonde in the photograph.

This was _right._


End file.
